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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27990051">Fractured</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catsafari/pseuds/Catsafari'>Catsafari</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows - Stiles/Drewe/Grahame</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Friendship, Gen, but it certainly does its fair share, can be read as either platonic or romantic, one bad friendship does not an anxiety make</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:07:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,857</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27990051</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catsafari/pseuds/Catsafari</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The friendship between Rat and Toad didn't dissolve as much as it fractured, and in the years that followed Rat continued to trip over the cracks. // A multichaptered, fragmented exploration of one possible interpretation of Toad and Rat's shared history, set in the 2017 musical.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mole &amp; Rat (Wind in the Willows), Mole/Rat (Wind in the Willows)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Fracture</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was originally intended to be a oneshot, but after hitting the 4K mark with the end still a fair pace off, I decided to split this up into a small multichaptered fic, partly for my own sanity and partly for ease of reading. Short chapter today, later chapters should be longer, with the aim of finishing this fic at the same point as the musical. I know there are headcanons about Toad and Rat being ex's, which I love, but I've veered more into childhood friendship territory here because I'm very aroace and my personal experience is more with long-term friendships turning sour and the trauma it can cause. Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"<em>They were careless people, Tom and Daisy - they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made." </em><br/>- The Great Gatsby; F. Scott Fitzgerald</p><p>x</p><p>In hindsight, the problem was that there were too many stairs in Toad Hall.</p><p>To the likes of Toad and Ratty, young and impressionable and under the impression they were unbreakable, such things were a veritable challenge, a perilous undertaking designed to weed out the weak from the brave.</p><p>"The Mount Everest to Mallory!" Toad proclaimed from the upper landing of the grand staircase. He posed in such a way he felt intrepid explorers should. "The North Pole to Franklin! The, uh..."</p><p>"Nile River to Livingstone?" Ratty supplied, and decided against pointing out how none of those expeditions had ended happily. He leant through the balusters, felt dizzy at the height, and hastily leant back.</p><p>"Exactly! Help me up."</p><p>Ratty interlocked his claws together and gave Toad a boost onto the handrail, the both of them still too short to see over the banister without aid. "Are you sure about this, Toad?" Ratty asked. He watched as Toad scrabbled into a sitting position, a webbed foot dangling on either side.</p><p>"Sure about it? Of course I'm sure about it! Just think of the rush, the speed, the grace-"</p><p>"The almighty crash when you hit the bottom," Ratty finished.</p><p>"It shall be a blaze of glory!"</p><p>"It'll definitely be a blaze of something." He wrinkled his nose, his whiskers twitching with unease. "I don't know; it just seems like a bad idea."</p><p>"Oh, pooh; don't be a scaredy-catty, Ratty. It'll be fun!"</p><p>"That's what you said about the old oak," Ratty reminded him. "And the makeshift bridge, and the-"</p><p>"Yes, well, no need to live in the past," Toad said hurriedly. "Not when the future is paved with glorious deeds! Now, watch and learn!"</p><p>Ratty did indeed watch. He watched as Toad slid down the curving handrail, screamed, laughed, and then screamed again as he shot off the bannister and across the hall. Ratty froze, imagining a multitude of terrible landings, and then there came a cackling, triumphant laugh that he knew well.</p><p>"Did you see that? Did you see it, Ratty?" A mess of green tripped back up the stairs. "I flew! I really flew!"</p><p>"Looked more like fancy falling to me," Ratty replied. "Is that...? Do you know you have a plant sticking out of the back of your shirt?"</p><p>"Oh, never mind that, that's just the rhododendron – or what's left of it, anyway. Ratty, it's your turn! You've got to give it a go!" Toad grinned at Ratty's hesitance. "Or are you frightened of some teeny-tiny stairs?"</p><p>Ratty's whiskers bunched in the stubborn expression of any child who has just been informed of their limits, and muttered, "You wish. Move over; <em>you</em> should be scared I'm about to outdo you." Digging his claws into the bannister, he scaled up onto the railing with only a little more grace than Toad had managed. (He hoped Toad's father wouldn't think to look too closely at the marks he left behind.) The bannister wasn't like a tree branch; it was thin and smooth and the edge tapered off at a curved angle that evidently had not been carved with the balance of young animals in mind. His claws dug a little deeper into the carefully-polished wood. "You watching?"</p><p>"Yesyesyesgo<em>gogo</em>–"</p><p>In the days that followed, he couldn't truthfully say he remembered what happened next. He knew, in theory, that he must have pushed off from the finial, and that he certainly started with the same general trajectory as Toad's previous attempt, but the rest assorted itself in blurs and colours and the kind of deafening cacophony that is made when a tiny water rat is bowled into an ancient suit of armour.</p><p>What he did remember, however, was the apology that came to pass the next day.</p><p>"My son," Toad's father said, "has something to say." And he gave Toad a firm push over to Ratty's bed. Or, at least, Ratty presumed it was Toad, for the creature stood before him was such a changed creature from his indomitable friend that he was nigh unrecognisable. The apology was much the same, being as it was a contrite, blubbering thing flavoured with multiple promises to do better.</p><p>Ratty stole a glance to their fathers; from Toad's looming over the proceedings, to his own lingering to one side with paws tucked into pockets but a tension along his shoulders that belied the easygoing stance. He looked back to his friend - his foolish, reckless best friend - and offered a conspiring grin borne from the innate rivalry of children vs. adults. "It's alright, Toad. At least I've got a spare," he said, and waved the arm that wasn't bound in a sling.</p><p>"Are... are you sure?" Toad asked, looking for all the world as if he were the one with the broken arm.</p><p>"Yeah, sure. You never know; maybe it'll scar." Ratty grinned. "I'll look like a pirate. It's alright."</p><p>
  <em>It's alright.</em>
</p><p>x</p><p>"How is he holding up?" Toad's father asked. There was the hiss of bottles being opened as both fathers sat out in the decking behind Ratty's room, the evening air warm and still with the remnant of the summer day.</p><p>"He's recovering," Ratty's father answered. "Honestly, I think the worst thing is keeping him out of the river - thank you - until his arm is healed." Ratty listened to the clink of bottles, ears straining to the open window. His father took a swig, then sighed. "But your lad coming round to keep him company is doing him good. Keeps him from getting frustrated."</p><p>Toad's father made a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat. "It's the least he can do after all the trouble he's caused."</p><p>"He didn't mean any harm by it. It's just that you toads, you..." and here Ratty heard his father pause. "Well, you <em>bounce </em>better than other animals. Your son needs to realise that, otherwise someone's going to get hurt." Another pause. "Again."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Wilder and Wilder</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Summer was intolerably slow that year, passing by in beautiful days that - by any other right - Ratty should have been spending on the river. When his arm did eventually finish healing to his father's standards (<em>"You're not going out on the river with an injured arm; you know how fickle the currents can be"</em>) the season was over and brisk autumn days were rolling in.</p><p>And, for all his faults, Toad certainly did play the part of careful friend, lesson well learnt after the scare on the stairs.</p><p>For a while.</p><p>"Maybe we should just let it go," Ratty said, staring up into the shadows of the Wild Wood. "It was only a kite, after all." He was older now – they both were, although sometimes Ratty felt like only one of them had matured into mid-adolescence – and caution had begun to overtake the reckless immortality of childhood.</p><p>"But it was <em>your </em>kite," Toad reminded him. "And I'm the one who lost it so I'm going to get it back."</p><p>"It... it really isn't that important."</p><p>"You said not to let it fly so high, I should have listened-"</p><p>"But you didn't and now it's gone," Ratty retorted, a little harsher than he had intended. He shook his head and attempted to clear the little knot of frustration that had wedged its way into his heart. "So let's just go back before anyone spots us." His father had reiterated, on no uncertain terms, the danger that the Wild Wood wrought, and he was going to be in enough trouble for losing the kite so soon, let alone if he got caught on the edge of the wood, to boot.</p><p>"Oh, <em>pooh</em>; are you really going to be such a scaredy-catty, Ratty?"</p><p>Ratty felt himself redden. "No, I just–"</p><p>"Are you so <em>frightened</em> of the Wild Wood you won't go in even with a friend?"</p><p>"No! But it's just that–"</p><p>"Then let's go get your kite!" Toad paused in the entrance to the wood, where already the light was weak and patchy. "If you don't come, I'll just go alone. You know I will."</p><p>Ratty gingerly brushed at his left arm where the autumn chill was already beginning to make the bone ache along the mended break. "Okay, okay. I'm coming. Just don't... don't go too far, okay?" He hurried after Toad, the remains of his pup fur along his neck rising to hackles as the wood's shadows swallowed them up.</p><p>Allegedly, the trees that inhabited the Wild Wood were no different to those that bordered the fields, altered only in abundance, but these were not the same friendly silhouettes that Ratty knew. The light that did filter through the thick canopy framed the autumnal trees in stark relief, sharp outlines and jagged contours digging like claws through the air. And when the wind came, the branches rattled and whispered - or was it true whispering he heard?</p><p>"Toad," Ratty whispered. "Toad, <em>Toady</em>, we should head back."</p><p>"We're fine–"</p><p>"We're <em>not</em> fine, we're in the Wild Wood. We're not meant to come here alone for a reason."</p><p>"Then it's a good thing we're not alone, isn't it?"</p><p>"You know what I mean. Look, I know you feel bad about the kite, but it really isn't worth all this fuss – if you could just stop and <em>think</em>–" Ratty flinched as something whistled. Maybe it was the wind rustling through the trees. But maybe it wasn't.</p><p>A selection of unkind thoughts passed by him, not least that the kite would not have been lost if Toad had just <em>listened </em>to him in the first place and not let it fly so high, but one look to his friend marching resolutely through the Wild Wood to undo the damage – an almost imperceptible shake in his limbs – and his harsh judgement softened.</p><p>Another slew of whistling crept up on them, this time too melodious to be arboreal, and he grabbed Toad's arm, pulling them both to a halt. "Toad!"</p><p>"We're nearly there-"</p><p>"How do you know that? <em>How</em>?" Something moved in the shadows of a tree's hollow – was it eyes he saw blinking or merely a sliver of frost catching the sunlight? His grip on Toad tightened. "Come on, we've looked enough and there's no sign of the kite. Let's go back."</p><p>The look his friend threw him was one he knew well. It was the same glint when Ratty had warned him about removing the handle-bars off their sled (<em>"It'll make it faster, you'll see!"</em>) or the makeshift bungee cord from the treehouse <em>("It's perfectly safe - watch!"</em>) – it was a stubborn, unmoving thing that resented the limits that common sense applied; it rested in the corner of his smug smile and the determined furrow of his brow and the glint of stubborn surety in his eyes.</p><p>Toad turned away, slipping his arm from Ratty's hold. "If you want to see the Wide World, Ratty, you'll have to go places that scare you. Or are you planning on staying on the riverbank all your life?"</p><p>"There's nothing wrong with the riverbank," Ratty muttered, but he followed after Toad. The path ahead was darker now, the canopy above so thick it nearly cut off all light and Ratty's foot caught in a tree root that he hadn't spotted amongst the shadows. Something snickered from the trees, and again came that wretched <em>whistling</em>. Behind. Ahead. Alongside. Always shifting at just the right pace to make it impossible to know if it was a single source, continuously moving, or a pack of creatures herding them onwards.</p><p>He didn't want to think about what they might be being herded <em>towards</em>.</p><p>His mind supplied options anyway.</p><p>"Look, you've proven your point!" Ratty snapped, momentarily forgoing the instinct to whisper. "But it's time to go home – Toad, stop and <em>listen </em>to me, please-"</p><p>To his relief – and shock – Toad did stop then. Or <em>freeze</em>, to be more accurate. Between the bouts of mocking, stalking whistling, he heard Toad's breath sharpen, and his head was tilted towards a swathe of shadows. "Ratty... There's something there..."</p><p>Ratty grabbed Toad's arm, and this time his friend did not shake him off. "Home," he said. "<em>Now</em>." He turned to the way they'd come – but the path was a crossway and it all looked so different from the other side. He faltered. Then he heard what must have alarmed Toad – a snuffling, shuffling sound of something large and unhurried heading their way – and he pushed on down the route that looked most familiar.</p><p>Had they passed by that tree before? Was that the same stream from earlier or did every brook look the same here? Had they pushed past those bushes on the way in? He didn't think so. Maybe he'd forgotten.</p><p>Closer. The thing behind was <em>closer </em>and the whistling was gone.</p><p>Maybe this wasn't the homeward bound route. Nothing looked the same. But the Wild Wood wasn't endless. Maybe if they just kept moving, kept going, they would eventually come out the other side. Any side. Just <em>out</em>.</p><p>He wasn't sure who slipped. It didn't really matter. All that mattered was the fact that suddenly the ground was no longer beneath his feet; it was before him and rushing up to meet him and then beneath him again, packed into his ears and mouth and he rolled to one side, spitting dirt. He heard Toad coughing, and that thing, that shuffling, shadowy form still followed them. Ratty twisted round to face the creature, teeth bared and hissing and ready to show the Wild Wooders that Riverbankers didn't go down without a fight–</p><p>The light shifted, and the mountainous form of Mr Badger loomed before them.</p><p>"Hello, boys."</p><p>x</p><p>"Reckless, idiotic, foolhardy-"</p><p>Ratty sat in the second-best drawing room in Toad Hall and tried not to listen to Toad's father berate his son in the next room over. He wanted to knock and let them know they could be heard, or maybe ask if he could sit somewhere else, but he had more pressing issues in the form of his own father.</p><p>While Toad's father's rage was a furious storm, the anger that Ratty was met with was a tired, disappointed thing. He watched his father pace the room, several minutes stretching by with only the crackle of the fire and the snatches of next door's conversation to cover the silence. Then, finally, "I told you to stay away from the Wild Wood."</p><p>"I know–"</p><p>"You do. So why did you do it?"</p><p>Ratty dropped his head, knowing that the answer – a tale of wheedling and convincing and <em>don't be a scaredy-catty ratty</em> – wouldn't satisfy anyone. "I... I don't know."</p><p>His father sighed and collapsed down into the armchair opposite Ratty. "Yes, you do. You really shouldn't let him talk you into everything, you know."</p><p>"It's... it's not his fault," Ratty spluttered, loyalty dogging his words. "He just wanted to find my kite, and I couldn't let him go alone, and it's not as if he <em>made </em>me do anything-"</p><p>"No, he didn't," his father agreed. "<em>You </em>made that choice."</p><p>"I couldn't let him wander into the Wild Wood alone," Ratty repeated, face still downcast. "I just... I couldn't."</p><p>Another long silence stretched out between them. It seemed even Toad's father had wound down and was on the low, disappointed part of his rebuking, for there was only the crackle of the fire. At some point since Ratty's arrival, someone had seen fit to drape a blanket around his shoulders, which was just as well since – despite the roaring fire – he still shivered.</p><p>His father sighed again, and Ratty finally found the courage to glance up. His father's expression was softer than he had been expecting, tinged with a kind of strange sadness. "I know," he said. "He's your friend, and you only wanted to do what was best for him. But any friendship has to go both ways, you hear me?"</p><p>"He does–"</p><p>"He does what <em>he </em>thinks is best for you," Ratty's father amended. "It's not the same. To really help someone, you have to listen to them first."</p><p>Ratty didn't know what to say to that – what he <em>could </em>say that was neither a lie nor condemning his best friend. But in the back of his mind, a tiny treacherous part reminded him how many times he had asked to turn back, and how many times Toad had continued regardless. When his attention returned, his father somehow looked older. Tired.</p><p>"I thought I had lost you," his father murmured. "When we couldn't find you, we asked around. A couple of rabbits said they had seen a young toad and water rat enter the Wild Wood, and when we heard that, we thought... we <em>feared</em>..." He shook his head. Rose to his feet. Tried again. "You're lucky Badger found you before anyone else did."</p><p>x</p><p>Ratty spent the rest of that autumn grounded. He didn't really have the energy to rage against the ruling and, besides, part of him knew this outcome was mild compared to the other options his little jaunt into the Wild Wood might have resulted in.</p><p>"You're lucky your son's taking it so well," Toad's father said during one visit. Ratty creaked open his bedroom window to overhear the parental conversation taking place on the riverside decking and hoped nobody would wonder why a window was ajar in late autumn. "Toad is acting as if I've sentenced him to twenty years jail time."</p><p>Ratty's father laughed quietly and there was the clink as coffee was passed across. "Your boy was always one for the dramatics."</p><p>"He has the entirety of Toad Hall to run wild in and he's claiming he's <em>bored</em>."</p><p>"Do you think it'll make any impact?"</p><p>It was Toad's father's turn to laugh now, a booming laugh that startled several ducks sleeping nearby. "The boy has never learnt a lesson in his life, but I don't think he'll be running back into the Wild Wood any time soon."</p><p>There was a thoughtful silence. Then, "You know what might do him good?"</p><p>"Common sense?" Toad's father offered dryly. "Humility? Even the vaguest sense of self-preservation?"</p><p>"A hobby," Ratty's father answered, sailing past his friend's comments with well-practiced ease. "Take Ratty for instance – boating keeps him busy and out of trouble, save for when your lad gets involved – no offence."</p><p>"None taken." Toad's father considered this, and for a moment there was only the sound of the river and the clinking of spoons against coffee cups. "I'm not sure," he said eventually, "that boating will suit him. It requires patience and practice and – most importantly – taking life at a gentle pace. You may have noticed that none of those are traits commonly associated with my son."</p><p>"Well, it needn't be boating. He just needs something to focus on, a way of directing all that reckless energy into something productive." Ratty's father paused. "Or just less destructive."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Flotsam</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was only designed to be a wayward comment – a passing tidbit of advice in the same genre that one may suggest yoga or That New Diet Everyone is Raving Over – but it was a comment that, Ratty suspected, his father came to regret in time. For Toad had thrown himself into the business of hobbies in the way that only one endowed with too much money and not enough sense could.</p><p>That was the kindest way of describing it anyway. A few less-kind descriptions detoured through Ratty's mind as he passed by the greenhouse that was finally under the care of a full-time gardener (although the Himalayan balsam was still out of control) and detoured through the kitchen (which still sported a scorch mark from Toad's misadventures in cuisine) to find Toad decked out in the apparel best deemed fit for his latest endeavour.</p><p>Today, it was an unfortunate melding of a sea captain's clothes – complete with the hat – and Ratty's own general fashion sense. He wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or flattered. He opted for confused.</p><p>"Toad, what <em>are</em> you doing?"</p><p>"Ah, Ratty, excellent timing!"</p><p>"You <em>did </em>invite me," Ratty reminded him. Still, he allowed himself to be led out into the garden and across Toad Hall grounds.</p><p>"Now," Toad continued, "I think I've been going about this hobby business all wrong."</p><p>"You don't say..."</p><p>"I do very much say! You see, all my previous pastimes have been so stationary, so static, and Toad needs action!"</p><p>"And now you're referring to yourself in the third person. <em>Great</em>."</p><p>"I need something exciting! Something mobile! Something where the scenery is never the same twice! I need–"</p><p>"Here it comes."</p><p>"–a houseboat!" Toad flung open the boathouse doors and waited expectantly for the applause.</p><p>Ratty uneasily stepped through. The boathouse was a little dusty after disuse following the senior Mr Toad's passing, all except for the houseboat moored in pride of place in the centre. It was a duck egg blue, beautifully painted, exquisitely carved, and evidently very expensive. Ratty paced along the decking several times before finding his voice again. "Are you <em>quite</em> sure this is what you need?" he asked eventually.</p><p>"I've never been so sure of anything in my life! Just picture it – life on the canals; here today, gone the next! It's the dream life!"</p><p>"Who's dream life?" Ratty asked.</p><p>"It's a house," Toad said, "on water. What's not to like? It combines your three favourite things – boats, home, and the river!"</p><p>Ratty wanted to point out that he was quite fond of cold ham and pudding too, but that didn't mean he was about to combine the two. Also, a canal was not the same thing as the river – not that such a difference would be of any importance to Toad. Still, he thought as he looked over the houseboat, at least Toad was <em>trying</em> to cater to his interests...</p><p>Then he had a thought that sent his whiskers twitching with dread. "Yes," he said, "well it's certainly a fine... vessel; you'll have to send me a postcard from all the places you visit–"</p><p>"Oh, pish-posh, I won't need to bother with postcards–"</p><p>"Please tell me it's because you'll send telegrams instead..."</p><p>"–because you're coming too!"</p><p>"That's what I was afraid you were going to say."</p><p>"What's the matter, Ratty? I thought this would be right up your street – uh, river. Think of all the adventures! The excitement! The miles and miles of open water that lie before us!"</p><p>"I'm quite fond of the miles of open water that is <em>my</em> river, Toad," Ratty said.</p><p>"Well, of course you are," Toad was quick to backtrack, "but this'll be new! Bold! And it won't be nearly as much fun alone. Please, Ratty."</p><p>Ratty looked at the boat. And then at his friend. He could almost picture his father's face when he told him that Toad had dragged him off on another misadventure – but he did know, if not the canal, then the water. He had kept his whiskers out of Toad's other doom-bound hobbies for several years (only occasionally dropping by to see the fallout) but this was different. He could control this hobby until Toad grew bored of it.</p><p>He might even enjoy it.</p><p>Ratty sighed. "Okay, Toad."</p><p>"Yes!"</p><p>"But I'm driving."</p><p>x</p><p>Naturally, Toad considered himself a natural-born skipper, regardless of such things as Reality or Experience, both of which veered towards quite another (far less flattering) conclusion. This was partially because of Toad's inattention to Ratty's attempt at lessons (instinct was not an adequate substitute for tuition, no matter how many times Toad attempted to prove otherwise) but mostly it was because Toad had grievously overestimated the innate excitement of a houseboat.</p><p>"Are you <em>quite </em>sure this thing can't go any faster?" Toad asked for the third time in as many minutes.</p><p>"Very," Ratty replied curtly. Frankly, he was surprised it had taken Toad all of two days to grow wearisome of their pace. After the first morning had been spent convincing Toad to rise at a sensible hour (a dilemma that had been eventually solved by depositing the bedcovers out on the houseboat decking) he had been sure Toad was one poorly-cooked houseboat meal away from calling off the whole adventure. But something – either stubbornness or simply his confidence in his own judgement – had stayed his verdict.</p><p>Toad crossed his arms one way. And then crossed them the other way.</p><p>Ratty set his pen and paper to one side – it was impossible to write poetry with Toad in this mood anyway – and rose to his feet. "How does an early supper sound?" he offered. Food, in his experience, was always a good antidote to irritability. "I'll prepare the food; you stay here and keep an eye on our course."</p><p>Toad immediately perked up. "Sounds splendid!"</p><p>"And stay away from the tiller," Ratty added.</p><p>"Of course."</p><p>Ratty eyed Toad for an extra moment, unsure whether it was instinct or paranoia insisting that he should keep a further eye on the amphibian, but eventually sided with paranoia. Anyway, he'd tasted Toad's attempts at cooking, and if he had to survive another day on cold beans on toast then <em>he'd</em> be the one jumping overboard.</p><p>It was as he was peeling the carrots that a rather unyielding clunk reverberated through the boat. He paused in his task as his years on the river caught up with him in a spin of instincts that insisted the boat was moving <em>in the wrong direction</em>. He muttered a curse he would never admit to his father he knew and stormed out of the cabin, peeler still in paw. "Toad, I told you not to mess with the – <em>oh</em>."</p><p>He wasn't sure what he had been expecting – truth be told, he hadn't been sure how much even <em>Toad</em> could mess up a houseboat – but the view he'd been expecting (that of the canal stretching ahead) had been replaced with that of the boat's prow wedged against the canal's stone wall. He glanced back. The stern was similarly stuck. Splinters of duck egg blue were coming away against the edge.</p><p>Toad leapt away from the tiller like a child caught with their paw in the cookie jar – if the cookie jar was smashed on the floor and cookie crumbs were littering the room. "I didn't do anything!"</p><p>x</p><p>"Now, I ain't sure I can write up reckless driving for a houseboat," the policeman drawled. He eyed the aforementioned boat that was jammed horizontally across the canal, and then the two animals that were barely into adulthood. "Truth be told, ain't ever had a need to, but I gotta record this as <em>something</em>. Can't just have inexperienced tourists clogging up the canal whenever they see fit - it's just not done."</p><p>Toad spluttered. "Inexperienced?"</p><p>Ratty grabbed Toad's arm. "Not now, Toad."</p><p>"But did you hear what he called me?! Inexperienced tourist, my–"</p><p>"Not. Now."</p><p>The policeman looked over them both. "Is there a problem, lads?"</p><p>"No, officer–"</p><p>"Yes! Do you know who you're talking to?" Toad demanded.</p><p>"A couple of animals about to get written up for cheeking the police?"</p><p>"I am Toad of Toad Hall! The mighty! The renowned! I herald from a long line of noble and respected amphibians!"</p><p>"And how many of these noble and respected amphibians crashed houseboats?" the policeman asked.</p><p>"Well it's not my fault the canal's too narrow."</p><p>Ratty's shoulders were nearly up to his ears. "We'll pay for the damages," he mumbled, hoping that in the <em>very long conversation</em> he was about to have with Toad, he'd be able to convince his friend to take the brunt of the fee – as much as because it was his fault as for the fact he had the money to spare.</p><p>"We will <em>not</em>."</p><p>"Toad–"</p><p>"I don't see why I should have to pay for something that clearly wasn't my fault! The – the, uh, steering stick must have been broken. Yes, that's it – the–"</p><p>"Shut. Up," Ratty hissed.</p><p>The policeman eyed the two animals, and exhaled slowly in a manner that implied this was not how he had pictured his day going. "Look, as long as you pay for the damages, I suppose that'll count as a fine," he sighed. "Do you lads have any way of getting home?"</p><p>Toad looked to Ratty. Ratty sighed. "My father can pick us up," he mumbled. "We'll walk to the river and head upstream. He can meet us halfway."</p><p>"Good." The police glanced again at them, in the manner of someone aware they should probably add something final to the conversation, but things like crashed houseboats and blocked canals were not fertile grounds for idle chatter. "And, uh, be more careful in future."</p><p>x</p><p>It was a long walk – made longer still by the undercurrent tension running between them – and Ratty didn't look at Toad for most of it.</p><p>"Ratty–"</p><p>"Save it."</p><p>"I didn't mean to–"</p><p>"That's the problem!" Ratty snapped. "You never mean to, but it somehow just keeps <em>happening</em>."</p><p>"I didn't do anything!"</p><p>"And I suppose the boat just crashed itself, did it?"</p><p>Toad made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat.</p><p>"You're not a toadlet anymore!" Rat continued. "You need to learn that your actions have consequences and take responsibility for them. You can't just keep… crashing through life as if you're not leaving disaster in your wake."</p><p>"Well, <em>now</em> you sound like my father."</p><p>"Good. At least one of us does."</p><p>A heavy silence filled the space between them, but Ratty refused to be the first one to break it. There was a knot of anger working its way through his heart – partly at Toad, but more at himself – and it made his chest ache. He wasn't sure what words would spill out if he attempted to speak. They took a left and located the river. He focused on that, on the homely sounds and scents of his river and allowed the floundering conversation to sink.</p><p>Eventually, as the sun was setting, the sunshine-yellow of Ratty's father's boat met them along the riverside. The elder Rat sculled the boat to the shore and secured the mooring rope to a sturdy willow root. He stared balefully over at the two young adults. "Evening, boys."</p><p>"Evening, Dad."</p><p>"Evening, Mr Rat."</p><p>His gaze lingered longer on his son, but he didn't add anything. He simply motioned for them to clamber in and set the course back to the Riverbank once everyone was settled. Even Toad picked up on the disappointed aura Ratty's father was radiating and, for one of the few times in his life, he stayed quiet.</p><p>x</p><p>"You didn't get grounded then?"</p><p>Ratty glanced up from where he was bouncing a very small otter pup on his knee. "I'm a little too old to get grounded, Mrs Otter."</p><p>"Take it from a parent; you're <em>never</em> too old to get grounded."</p><p>Ratty scoffed. "What can my father say that he hasn't already? He's right – we both know he's right – and yet…" He trailed off. The knot of anger hadn't dissipated, but it had… loosened in the intervening time. His mind spun round in an eddy and settled back on the same topic it kept coming back to. "One would have thought his father's passing would have sobered him. Instead he seems to have worsened – Toad's my <em>friend</em>, Mrs Otter; what am I meant to do?"</p><p>Mrs Otter considered, her gaze idling on the familiar waters of the river. "You do what any friend does. You help–"</p><p>"So everyone keeps saying, but–"</p><p>"–and sometimes that means giving 'em the space to grow on their own."</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Lagan</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N: Just a heads up for this chapter in that it mentions grief and death. Also a thanks to jeremystollemyheart for discussing headcanons concerning Toad and Rat handling grief, which I have gratuitously borrowed for my own use here. :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ratty was almost asleep on the riverbank – aided by the summer's hazy heat and the melodious buzz of insects – when he was awoken by the arrival of a small otter pup being dropped onto him.</p><p>In fact, <em>thrown</em> wouldn't have been too misleading a word. "Can I help, Mrs O?" he asked sardonically, as if he wasn't already settling young Portia onto his knee.</p><p>"Swimming club practice. Pupsit Portia for a moment, will you?"</p><p>"Only if you agree to do the same for Toad," Ratty called back.</p><p>"Why? What has he done now?"</p><p>"What <em>hasn't</em> he done would be an easier question."</p><p>Mrs Otter raised an eyebrow and plopped back into the river, evidently deciding that this was a conversation that could wait until after she'd finished setting up today's practice.</p><p>"Charming," Ratty muttered, and glanced down at his unexpected ward. She looked back up at him with large, bark-brown eyes and Ratty couldn't help but think how this pup was probably about the same age he and Toad had been during their staircase slide adventures. "Hello," he said.</p><p>She offered up something in her paw. It wriggled. "Worm," she said.</p><p>"Hm," Ratty said. "Very nice. Now, why don't we try putting the worm down– <em>and</em> you've eaten it. Fan<em>tastic</em>." Ratty inhaled slowly. "What has your mum told you about eating food in front of other animals?"</p><p>"To share?" Portia offered.</p><p>"Well, yes, but – oh god, don't spit it out." Ratty curbed the recoil as much as he could as the tiny otter proffered a half-eaten worm towards him. "You know what, you can keep that."</p><p>"Really?"</p><p>"Yeah. I just ate."</p><p>"Thanks!"</p><p>Ratty could only grimace as Portia returned the worm to its previous home, squished and all, and tried to remind himself that otters found his species-specific part of his diet just as strange. Perhaps not as stomach-turning, but still… He grabbed Portia just as she started to move with purpose. "And where do you think you're going?"</p><p>Portia pointed to the muddied river edge, one of the few places not dried and cracked from the summer heat. "To get more worms," she said as if Ratty was missing the obvious. She perked up. "I can get you some too! And beetles!"</p><p>"No… thanks. Look, why don't you just wait here until your mum gets back?"</p><p>"Because it's boring."</p><p>A reluctant smile tugged at Ratty's lips. <em>'I suppose I did ask,'</em> he thought. A wave of rather embarrassed relief washed over him as Mrs Otter reappeared along the bank. "And there's your mum. Turns out waiting for her here wasn't so boring after all."</p><p>Portia gave him a look that implied he was in danger of falling into the Uncool Adult category, and bulldozed towards her mother like a wasp after jam. "Mum, mum, <em>mumumum</em> can I hunt for worms along the riverbank?"</p><p>Mrs Otter took one look at her daughter and sighed. "Sure. Mind you keep in sight, though!"</p><p>Portia waved in a way that might have meant her mother's words had been heard and understood, but also gave her enough grounds to plead ignorance later on, if the occasion arose. Ratty gave a half-smile, half-grimace, and collapsed back down on the grassy bank. "She reminds me of someone else at her age," he said. He paused, and then added, "Scratch that. She reminds me of someone else <em>now</em>."</p><p>Mrs Otter gave a low laugh and began to nose her way through the picnic basket. Ratty didn't point out that he hadn't invited her; it had been his father's belief that a picnic was open to anyone – and if it were on the riverbank, then doubly so. Anyway, he had barely touched it since settling down. "So," Mrs Otter asked, picking out the elderflower cordial and pouring it out, "what's all this I hear about Toad?"</p><p>Ratty took the drink she passed him. "Nothing different from last time, save for the rapidly overfilling boathouse. I tell you, if he still had the narrowboat, he'd have run out of space last season."</p><p>"Hm," Mrs Otter said. She took a swig of cordial. "'s funny though," she continued, "but I've never seen him stick to one hobby as long as this."</p><p>"If it was one hobby, that'd be one thing," Ratty complained, "but it's not. Sailing, punting, canoeing… he's rotating round every boat he can get his webbed hands on faster than a mouse at a cheeseboard."</p><p>"Still. It's all boating."</p><p>Ratty gave Mrs Otter a despairing look. "You're a Riverbanker, Mrs O. I <em>know</em> you know better than that."</p><p>"I do. Doesn't mean Toad does."</p><p>"If you have something to say, just say it."</p><p>Mrs Otter raised an eyebrow. "From your tetchiness, you sound like you already know what it is."</p><p>"I'm not–" Ratty caught himself just before the petulant tone snuck in. "I'm not being tetchy," he said. He wasn't entirely sure he succeeded. "Anyway," he pushed on before Mrs Otter could raise the other eyebrow, "just because Toad is merry-go-rounding the boating world doesn't mean there's anything more to it. He may have just found he likes being on the water."</p><p>Mrs Otter did raise the other eyebrow then. "Do you remember when he threw his hat into the crochet ring?"</p><p>"I remember the mess he made of the wool."</p><p>"That lasted two days."</p><p>Ratty snorted. "Just enough time for him to stab himself in the foot."</p><p>"Then the knitting only went on for a day."</p><p>"In which he stabbed his <em>other</em> foot–"</p><p>"And the sewing didn't even last into lunchtime," Mrs Otter finished. She gave him a '<em>would you let me finish?</em>' look and carried on. "When he loses interest in something, <em>he loses interest</em>."</p><p>"I know what you're getting at, Mrs O–"</p><p>"Which is what?" she asked sweetly.</p><p>"–but I don't think he's sticking to boating because of anything to do with me. Honestly? I think he just likes the speed. When he's not capsizing, anyway."</p><p>Mrs Otter gave an exasperated huff. "Have you tried talking to him?"</p><p>"Have you tried explaining to Portia that she needs to stop talking about her eating habits?"</p><p>A pause.</p><p>"Touché."</p><p>Ratty picked at a watercress sandwich that he had no appetite for. "Sometimes talking doesn't make any difference, so why bother?"</p><p>"So you <em>have</em> tried talking to him?"</p><p>"Not recently," Ratty admitted. "But I <em>have</em> tried," he hotly added. "Many times. His father could handle him, and even mine could talk some sense into him sometimes, but I…" He trailed off, and the weight that he had been studiously ignoring settled back into his chest. He set the sandwich back down, done pretending to be interested in the food.</p><p>For a moment, the only sound was the sluggish crawl of the river, too low after too dry a summer. It didn't matter anyway; he hadn't taken the boat out in months.</p><p>"I'm sorry about your father, Ratty."</p><p>"Yeah, well, so am I." He felt guilty about the bitter words immediately, but the weight in his chest made them too heavy to recall. He turned his head away, and could only manage a single, "Sorry."</p><p>Mrs Otter patted his paw, not in the patronising way he had come to know from far too many animals in the passing season, but in the tired way of someone who was familiar with the pain. "He was a good animal, your father. One of the best."</p><p>The proper response – the one he should have given, even a subdued 'thanks' – caught in his throat, but he didn't think Mrs Otter minded too much. She was familiar with grief.</p><p>"You know," she said, kindly assisting the conversation along and not commenting on the pained silence from Ratty's side, "in times of loss, it's good to remember what we still have. Whether it be a child…" and her gaze skittered to Portia and back, "or a friend."</p><p>"If this is your way of trying to get me to forgive Toad…" Ratty bit back the ending to that sentence before he loosed words he couldn't take back. He shook his head. "You're the one who said that sometimes being a friend means giving someone the room to grow, and Toad has <em>a lot</em> of growing still to do."</p><p>"This isn't about Toad–"</p><p>"Could've fooled me."</p><p>"–it's about you," Mrs Otter finished in the tone of one quite accustomed to dealing with youngsters talking over her.</p><p>Ratty gave a strangled laugh. "And how did you puzzle that one out?"</p><p>"It's a beautiful summer day and you're sitting alone with a picnic fit for feeding half the Riverbank."</p><p>"It's not that much," he mumbled.</p><p>"It's too much for one animal." Mrs Otter looked to him, and he could almost feel her waves of maternal instinct rolling over him. "You're not like Mr Badger, Ratty," she said softly. "You're not a solitary animal, however much you might want to be right now."</p><p>"And the fact that I overpacked for a picnic is proof of that, is it?"</p><p>Mrs Otter gave a disapproving silence as she collected out some tinned mackerel that the both of them knew Ratty didn't like, and gave a look that had been perfected after dealing with one too many peevish children.</p><p>"Sorry," Ratty muttered. "It's just, I'm <em>tired</em>, Mrs O. I've spent most of my life trailing round after Toad, trying to rein him in and cleaning up his messes when I – <em>inevitably</em> – fail, and I can't keep doing it. It was one thing when there was… when I wasn't the only one, but it's just me now, and I can't be the best friend <em>and</em> the nanny <em>and</em> the voice of reason <em>and</em>…" He shook his head sharply. "Look, if he wants to make a mess of things, then that's his prerogative but I refuse to have anything to do with it. I'm quite happy sitting it out on the Riverbank with a picnic that's too much for one."</p><p>"Are you?"</p><p>Ratty exhaled heavily. "I don't know. But I can't deal with it. Him. Not right now."</p><p>"You've gotta be careful, Ratty. Otherwise you're gonna end up retreating into yourself with grief."</p><p>"How am I mean to act then? Go gallivanting about the riverside, making a fool of myself like Toad?" Ratty snapped. "Ricocheting from one fatalistic hobby to the next as if nothing's changed? As if everything's still fine?" He was sitting up now, although he didn't recall moving, his form taut and his paws cutting sharp motions through the lazy summer air. "I see the way he parades along the water in whatever Boat of the Week he has going on, all noise and bluster and merriment, and I can't be doing with it."</p><p>"Not everybody deals with grief in the same way."</p><p>"Or grieve at all, apparently. I mean," he continued, and somewhere far in the back of his mind he was aware he was teetering on the edge of Rant territory, "you'd think there'd be <em>some</em> semblance, even the barest <em>edge</em> of sorrow, but <em>no</em>; the Great Mr Toad just carries on careening through life like a three-wheeled caravan along narrow country roads. Did you know that I had to organise his father's funeral?"</p><p>"You may have mentioned it once or twice," Mrs Otter murmured into her cordial glass.</p><p>"And it wasn't because he was too upset – <em>no</em>, he was too <em>distracted</em> by that damn camera he'd bought all the way from London, spurting some <em>nonsense</em> about new-fangled photography techniques. So my father and I had to put the funeral together, as if he wasn't <em>also</em> grieving for the best friend he'd just lost, because <em>Mr Toad</em> was convinced he was going to be the next famous photographer and that was far more important than anything else. Funerals be damned."</p><p>A long, laborious moment passed. Mrs Otter finished her elderflower cordial. "Do you feel better for that?" she asked.</p><p>"Not really," Ratty admitted.</p><p>"Shocking."</p><p>He exhaled, and there was a tremor in his lungs that he hadn't braced for. "I'll be fine, Mrs O," he said eventually, once he was quite sure he could speak without his voice betraying him. The outcome was still gently hoarse. "I just need some time." He laughed, and the sound shook. "Damn. He's right – I <em>do</em> sound like his father."</p><p>"It's not surprising. You did spend a lot of time at Toad Hall."</p><p>Ratty noted the past tense and, although it was true, it still surprised him. "I suppose I did."</p><p>"You've gone through a lot this year, Ratty. Just… look after yourself."</p><p>"And does that mean forgiving Toad?"</p><p>"Maybe. You never know; he may surprise you."</p><p>"That's what I'm afraid of."</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Jetsam</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I have decided that I want to learn to row."</p><p>Ratty didn't glance up from the newspaper. "Then I wish your instructor luck."</p><p>He could hear Toad fidget impatiently at the pier's edge, his stance implying his usual confidence but the pause at the threshold belaying a hint of something <em>other</em>. Ratty wouldn't call it guilt. It felt more like a child who knew they were in trouble but weren't sure of the cause. "I was thinking… if I want to learn to row, then I should learn from the best. From someone who really knows the river–"</p><p>"Then hire a fish."</p><p>"Ratty, please…"</p><p>Ratty finally lowered the paper and stared balefully at Toad. "What do you want, Toad?"</p><p>Toad fumbled for a little of his familiar bluster. "I would have thought it would be obvious! You, me, boating on the river, just like old times!"</p><p>Ratty stared at Toad for several seconds longer, his mind reeling through the chaos of the last few years and the fact that Toad had never had the patience for lazy days on the river, however he chose to remember it. He flipped the paper back up. "Can't."</p><p>"Ratty…"</p><p>"The boat's been derelict since– for a while now," he said, mumbling over the shift in his sentence. The yawning abyss of grief had shallowed in the passing season, but there was depth enough still for drowning. "So even if I wanted to, I can't. You'll have to find another foolish animal to join you in your misadventures."</p><p>"But I don't <em>want</em> another animal," Toad whined, sounding for all the world like his petulant teenager self. "And… and the boat can't be in all that bad of a shape, I mean your father was using it regularly before… well, you know…" In an uncharacteristic spat of tact, Toad trailed off. He hitchhiked off an adjoining topic and carried on. "I mean, how derelict can a boat get in a season or two? It'll need, what, a fresh coat of paint?"</p><p>"At least," Ratty said. "Probably need to reapply a sealer layer too."</p><p>"Then we do that!"</p><p>Several rapid heartbeats passed. Then, feeling like he was drifting too close to a set of rapids but unable to turn course, Ratty slowly lowered the paper. "What?"</p><p>"Then we paint the boat and reapply the seeker–"</p><p>"Sealer," Ratty corrected.</p><p>"–that too, and we get your father's boat up and running again!"</p><p>"And the paddles that need mending?" Ratty asked. "Are you going to repair the cushions too, and reattach the boat hooks that have come loose?"</p><p>"Yes, yes, yes!" Toad cried impatiently. "All of that! Only…" and here Toad passed, showing the first signs of realisation that he might be agreeing to Hard Work, "not <em>all</em> of that is needed, is it?" He spluttered at the look Ratty threw him, and bustled back into conversation. "I mean, of course! We'll get the old thing going in no time at all, just you see! So that's a yes?"</p><p>"Let's see how far we get first before promising anything," Ratty ventured. Regardless of his tone, he was already folding up the paper and easing himself out of his riverside chair, belatedly aware that his actions and his words didn't quite match up. But there was a familiarity in dealing with Toad, one that he had spent too long growing up around for his mind to forget just yet. And he had missed the energy that Toad brought – Toad bounced with such excitement as they pulled the half-forgotten boat out of the weeds that by the time it had been safely hauled onto the bank even Ratty had a spring in his step.</p><p>He remembered enough of Toad's temperament to give him the tasks that could be done enthusiastically without too much danger of damage, and that would not take so long as to render him bored before completion. So while Toad reapplied a fresh layer of sunshine-yellow (the grass beneath would eventually recover its green, Ratty was sure), Ratty set to seeking out new boat hooks since the previous ones had gone wandering during the seasons' inactivity. By the time he returned, Toad was also on the way to losing his natural green to the paint.</p><p>Ratty took a subtle look over Toad's work and tactfully pointed him in the direction of the patches that had been missed, before settling down to stitch back up the tired seat cushions. The repetitive work had a rhythm to it that steadied the unease that followed wherever Toad went.</p><p>The rustle of the paintbrush against the hull slowed, and Ratty glanced over to check what had distracted his friend, but Toad simply seemed to be in thought. "You know," Toad said, "I haven't painted since–"</p><p>"That summer," Ratty finished. "Yeah, I remember."</p><p>"Do you still have the paintings I gave you?"</p><p>Ratty paused. "Sure," he lied.</p><p>"Keep hold of those for a few more years and they'll probably be worth a fortune. Painted by the great Mr Toad!"</p><p>Ratty paused, but this time in suppressing the laughter that, he suspected, would not be appreciated. "Sure," he repeated. He felt his own pace also falter as the memories of that eventful summer returned. "You convinced me to try my paw at it too."</p><p>"We started a paint fight!"</p><p>"<em>You</em> started a paint fight," Ratty reminded him, but without any real animosity. "I simply retaliated under duress."</p><p>"I seem to recall a lot of laughter from someone who was <em>under duress.</em>"</p><p>"And <em>I</em> seem to recall that the paint took a week to get out of my fur."</p><p>Toad paused. "Not all of it though."</p><p>"No. Some of it had to be shaved off."</p><p>Toad tried – and failed – to hide the snort which was, quite honestly, more self-control than he usually managed. "You had that stripe all the way–"</p><p>"Along my neck, yes."</p><p>"And between your ears."</p><p>Despite himself, Ratty couldn't curb the curt laughter. "I looked like Mr Badger."</p><p>"You did!" Toad picked up on the laughter where Ratty had ended, and now the boat's tending had been completely forgotten. "You did Mr Badger impressions to make Portia laugh."</p><p>"Not very good ones. Although," Ratty added, and Toad's humour proved to be contagious in such a way as to make his words muffled slightly beneath the chuckles, "in my defence, I haven't seen him much in years, so I was imitating a <em>very</em> shaky memory."</p><p>"He used to be round Toad Hall a lot when we were younger," Toad said.</p><p>"Along the Riverside, too," Ratty added. "Not lots but… enough." They sat in silence for a moment, both recalling the large, intimidating Badger who had featured as a cornerstone of their childhood memories and yet who now rarely ventured beyond his home in the Wild Woods. A nostalgia for simpler times stole over Ratty and when he next spoke, his words were soft. "The paint fight was fun," he said. "And... you bought a neckerchief over to hide the shaved fur afterwards."</p><p>"I would have brought you a hat too, but you were quite adamant that you liked the one your father had found you."</p><p>"I happen to like this hat."</p><p>Toad shrugged. "All I'm saying is I <em>did</em> offer a captain's one."</p><p>"And all I'm saying is that if someone needs a captain's hat for others to know he's a captain then they're doing a poor job of <em>being</em> a captain. Speaking of which…" Ratty pulled the last stitch tight on the cushion and snapped the loose thread. "How's the boat coming along?"</p><p>"Wonderfully! Absolutely… remarkably… perfectly…"</p><p>Ratty lowered the cushion and raised a critical eye at the boat. It was not, it had to be said, <em>quite</em> the standard his father would have kept to. The paint had an uneven tilt to it, smooth in some (although not many) places and patchy in others, and the letters denoting the name had a jagged calligraphy to them. A few joins had proven to be too fine for Toad's brushwork and the faded yellow of last year's coat still remained in corners. But it was a riverworthy boat, his father's boat, and it looked more loved and cared for than it had for the past two seasons.</p><p>Ratty stilled, very aware that the grief continued to simmered within him, but somehow it didn't burn so hotly anymore. "It'll need time to dry," he eventually said when he could be sure his voice was steady. "But if the weather's still holding, I think we could take it out onto the water after lunch."</p><p>x</p><p>It had been a long while – too long – since Ratty had last set sail onto the river, and part of him feared that the feel of being on the water would be foreign to him after all this time. But as the boat rocked gently in the shallows, he found the muscle memory had a quick and reassuring return.</p><p>Toad staggered somewhat as he stepped in after Ratty, grasping for the side and nearly missing the seat entirely as he tried to settle. "I say, this is a bit unsteady," he grumbled.</p><p>Ratty recognised the tone for what it was – embarrassment at his clumsiness compared to Ratty's easy stride – and set to securing the oars into place. "You'll get your river-legs eventually, Toad. It just takes a little practice."</p><p>"I'll have you know I have lots of boat practice–"</p><p>"But not with this kind of boat, do you?" Ratty interrupted before Toad could start extolling the virtues of his previous boating experiences – which would, inevitably, overlook the misfortunate end to the majority of them. "So sit down, catch your balance, and let me get back into the swing of things."</p><p>To his relief, Toad did indeed settle down, or as much as he was able. He heralded Ratty with tales of his 'adventures' during the past seasons, of the lows and highs of his sudden fascination with all things boating and all Ratty needed to do was prompt every now and again with a well-placed 'hm' or 'how <em>insert-adjective-here</em>' and Toad would be off once more like a wound-up toy. There was an easiness to it that allowed Ratty to sink back into the familiar, homey motions of sculling along the river, returning him to a time when fathers had not been lost and friendships were still secure and the boating season seemed to last forever.</p><p>Ratty was just on the verge of turning the boat around and heading back for home when he realised that Toad's monologue had wound down and now he was watching Ratty with the kind of look that Ratty knew far too well.</p><p>"I think," Toad began, in the tones of someone who was trying very hard to make it sound like a casual question arising and not a query that had been burning on his tongue for a while now, "that I've quite got the hang of this rowing malarkey."</p><p>"This rowing malarkey?" Ratty echoed.</p><p>"All… this," Toad said, motioning loosely to the oars. "I've been watching you and I think I've figured it out. I mean, it's simply a case of moving the paddles like this…" He manoeuvred the oars from Ratty's grasp and Ratty, becalmed after the reassuring return to the river, didn't reclaim them before they were securely in Toad's hands. "You move them like… <em>this</em>…" Toad repeated, splashing the oars with about as much grace as an otter pup's first swim.</p><p>"It's more of a looping motion than a… whatever that is," Ratty offered. "Do you want me to–"</p><p>"I've got this!"</p><p>"You really don't," Ratty said, but Toad was past listening. There was that glint in his eye that had come to portend too many disasters in Ratty's experience; it was that stubborn, overconfident streak that neither time nor animal had never yet manage to temper and would not be stopped now.</p><p>There was a distant roaring, and it took Ratty several seconds to realise that it was not the blood pumping through his ears but the sound of rapid, rushing water. The irritation that had been building within him scattered into instinctive fear, and he made a grab at the oars. "Toad, give me the oars."</p><p>"I'm doing fine!"</p><p>"You're not! You're setting us toward the weir!"</p><p>"I've got this!"</p><p>"You don't!" The fear bled back into anger and now he could see the bend in the river that preceded the weir and its roaring, stony drop. All Riverbankers were raised with a healthy respect for the manmade structure and the danger it posed – all, it would seem, but Toad. "You don't have this!" Ratty snapped. "For once in your life, stop being an idiot and admit when you're out of your depth before you send us over!"</p><p>A sliver of something that looked dangerously like hurt crept into Toad's gaze, but it was glazed over with a renewal of that stubborn glint, and Toad's grip on the oars tightened. "Really, Ratty, I don't see why you're making such a big fuss – such a mountain out of a molehill – I'll get us turned around in no time–"</p><p>"Toad–"</p><p>They passed the bend. Ahead and getting close, the river's lazy path was severed by the weir's sharp form. The thunder of the water nearly drowned out even Toad's booming voice.</p><p>"–you're always acting as though I'm going to ruin everything–" Toad continued.</p><p>"Because you do!"</p><p>Even amid the weir's thunder, the world seemed to silence for a heartbeat.</p><p>"I…" Ratty fumbled, reaching for an apology but the weir was still getting closer and the anger and grief and fear that had been kicked up refused to settle. "Just give me the oars, Toad."</p><p>"No."</p><p>"<em>Give them to me.</em>"</p><p>"No! I'm not going to mess this up and I'll prove it!"</p><p>"Prove it any other time but <em>not now</em>! Not here, not on the weir, <em>not in my father's boat–</em>"</p><p>The roar of the weir was deafening. The boat was slipping past Toad's control, past Ratty's control even if he had the oars, and it spun erratically in the eddies of the oncoming drop. Ratty grabbed Toad's coat collar and heaved them both towards the shore. For a moment the chilling autumn water engulfed them, shaking the breath from their lungs, and then Ratty caught the swooping boughs of an old willow that overhung the weir and, half-swimming, half-climbing, fumbled their way out before the river could claim them.</p><p>Ratty collapsed on the grassy bank, now slick with riverwater and mud, and could only listen to the shivery gasps of his friend.</p><p>Then he heard it.</p><p>Ratty had heard several boats break in his time – the majority those under the care of Toad, it had to be said – and they inclined to be messy, fragmented affairs. An array of cracks and splits and fissures. Things that could – with patience and time – be tended back to a degree of health, if only one had the inclination.</p><p>The sound his boat made was a single, sure <em>snap</em>. It was the sound of its backbone breaking against the stony drop before the weir's pressure pushed the remains into its depths; a final, unmistakable sound before everything else was drowned out by the water's thunder. And in that moment, he knew his father's boat was gone.</p><p>x</p><p>"I'll buy you a new boat."</p><p>Ratty stared at his oldest friend. He didn't remember much of the journey back home – he must have moved on numbed instinct though, for there he sat now in his parlour with coffee that was rapidly going cold and blankets for both him and Toad. If he focused, he could blearily recall the way his paws had shivered as he had set the kettle going and the multiple tries it had taken to fit the key into his front door.</p><p>His paws shivered now, although the cold had receded. His mind replayed that definite <em>snap</em> and he realised it was anger running wild through his limbs that set his form shaking. Something else snapped then. "You just don't get it, do you?"</p><p>"Get what–"</p><p>"That there are some things you can't fix just by throwing your money at!" Ratty was on his feet. He didn't remember moving. He swayed at the sudden movement. "That sometimes you break things and they stay broken!"</p><p>Toad had gone uncannily still, unnerved by a rage that in all his confidence and self-assurance he had never seen coming. "Ratty, I didn't mean–"</p><p>"So you keep saying! And I'm sure you <em>don't</em> mean to but…" The rage wavered, but only in its direction. "But I keep giving you second chances, even though I <em>know</em> they'll only end the same way as every other time. Well, I've had enough of this, of… of cleaning up your messes. Of reining you in. Of trying to help an animal who doesn't want helping! If you listened for just <em>once</em> in your life then maybe…" Ratty exhaled and the breath was pained. "Just… all of it. I'm done." He stepped back, and suddenly the distance was more than the space between them. "I'm done."</p><p>"Ratty, just listen–"</p><p>"No, <em>you</em> listen! I have been more than patient these last few years, trailing after you and trying to be the voice of reason and for what?" The <em>snap</em> of his boat rang in his ears again and his breathing hitched. "You're arrogant, Toad. Reckless. Conceited. You always think you know what is best, and you never learn. And it makes being your friend <em>exhausting</em>."</p><p>Toad gave a spluttering sound, something of his usual bluster creeping into his form as, instinctively, he fell back on familiar habits. The ego that had buoyed him up through failures that would have sunk any other animal rose through him once again, attempting to buffer him against the accusations. "Well, I… I only meant to help–"</p><p>"<em>How?</em>"</p><p>Any other animal might have heard the icy tone lining Ratty's words, read the room and realised that now was not the time for any such claims – but Toad was not any other animal. And so sure was he of his own judgement that he barely hesitated before barrelling on. "Well, it's just that you spend so much time on the Riverbank – I just wanted you to get out more! After all," he continued, confidence returning as he listened to the sound of his own voice, "all you ever do is mess about on the river in that little boat–"</p><p>"I happen to <em>like</em> messing about on the river."</p><p>"–you need to get out sometime! See the world! Try new things!"</p><p>"And you're still not listening…"</p><p>"In the end, you should be <em>thanking</em> me!"</p><p>"For <em>what</em>?" Ratty snapped.</p><p>"For getting you away from your <em>precious</em> river once in a while!" Toad faltered as, even in the haze of his self-surety, he realised a line had been crossed. For several heartbeats, the only sound was the fire dying in the hearth. "Ratty–"</p><p>"Don't you 'Ratty' me," Rat snarled. "I've had enough. And evidently so have you; of me and my <em>precious river</em>. I think you'd best be going, don't you?"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Rat Alone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It should have been an easy change.</p>
<p>It should have been simple.</p>
<p>After all, the space between him and Toad had been a widening rift in the years following their fathers' deaths, and Rat had been sure that all that was left was to make it official; to drag the reality out into the stark light of day and sever the link that remained.</p>
<p>And yet, the ghost of their friendship haunted him still.</p>
<p>It lay in the stories untold. The joke that would have sent Toad into an uproar of croaking laughter that floundered before sinking back onto his tongue. The sardonic comment that Toad would have steamrolled past Rat now curbed, a shade too cutting for the company that remained. The knowing look they would have shared over another animal's comment, now absent.</p>
<p>Regardless of what his heart wanted, his mind continued to supply gaps where Toad would have filled. Or was it the other way around – the mind that was sure in its course, but the heart that continued to run along disused tracks? Either way, life continued to throw up little missteps – habits of another time still built into him even if they were now defunct. They would appear in the gift he nearly bought (it was the perfect shade of green; the instinct was automatic) or the silence he let ring out for a moment too long (Toad would have had a story to add there) or the way he would glance up when an animal in tweed crossed his path and for a moment – just a moment – he would mistake their identity.</p>
<p>He would find them in the gestures he had gleaned from a lifetime alongside Toad – Toad had always been expressive, webbed hands a blur of motion, and so Rat was too. Toad was always moving – rocking on the balls of his feet or leaping from one to the other – and while Rat didn't carry the same level of energy, he found himself shifting his feet in latent mimicry all the same. They would fade in time, he told himself, but until then the remains of their friendship lingered in his bones.</p>
<p>They would fade.</p>
<p>Eventually.</p>
<p>x</p>
<p>The letters – invitations to Toad Hall that Toad had never bothered with in the past – flooded his door. Emerald-green. Unmistakable. <em>Unmissable</em>. At first it was a single invite, a single drop in the ocean, and the anger that rolled through Rat led the letter from door to wastebasket without delay. Then it was two, three, a spring flood that all shared the same fate. The ire within him cooled over time into a simmering, comfortable thing, and suddenly he was discarding the letters from habit rather than rage.</p>
<p>And then the letters stopped. Despite having told himself he would be relieved when Toad gave in, a pain settled in between heart and lungs when the day came that no post arrived at all.</p>
<p>Perhaps it was just as well he never read them, he told himself.</p>
<p>Perhaps.</p>
<p>x</p>
<p>He fell harder into the safe habits he had left – moving through the motions, the picnics and the poetry and the lazy days along the river that he knew so well – which continued in spite of Toad's absence. Eventually he reclaimed what he could salvage of his father's boat, replacing and repairing the cracked planks and splintered bow until the only original part that remained was the fact that it had once been a boat and would be again.</p>
<p>He threw himself into the project with the same kind of ferocity that could only be matched by Toad's first thrall of a new hobby. Part of him – although he would never speak such things – saw the comfort that the single-mindedness brought. For while his mind was full of planks and nails and paint, it had no room for anything else.</p>
<p>What remained of the boating season passed, and the colder months rolled in. They brought with them a lull that usually Rat heeded – a desire for rest and sleep, a time for evenings by the fireside and fragments of poetry that he rarely finished – but this season Rat set the instinct to one side.</p>
<p>"You're unusually active," Mrs Otter remarked during a visit that had become one of many. She often cited that she was merely 'passing by' but the fact remained that she had turned up on his doorstep more frequently than he could ever recall – save for the month following his father's passing. Sometimes it would be for tea, other times it would be to keep an eye on Portia – although the otter pup was now growing a little too old for easy pupsitting. Every time, she would regard him with a critical parental eye that made him want to finish the drying up and fold away the washing.</p>
<p>Today, they were sitting by the frozen riverbank, Rat wrapped up in multiple layers as he finished setting the last of the timbers that would serve as the ribs of the boat. Mrs Otter, by species, was neither inclined to hibernation nor affected by the shifting cold and so only had an extra scarf that she tucked her nose into at sporadic moments.</p>
<p>"I'm just busy, that's all," Rat replied, dropping his head into the depths of the boat's skeleton and studiously not making eye contact with his guest. "I need to get this finished before spring."</p>
<p>"And you can't just wait until the weather improves because…?" she prompted.</p>
<p>"I just want to keep busy. Anything wrong with that?"</p>
<p>Mrs Otter made a non-committal noise that somehow still sounded maternally judgemental. "Nothing at all, pet. Just thought it was funny, given how rarely I usually see you out this time of year."</p>
<p>"<em>You're</em> the one who came to visit," Rat reminded her.</p>
<p>"And<em> you're</em> the one fixing up a boat on the riverside in the dead of winter."</p>
<p>Rat muttered something deliberately incoherent and buried himself further into his task. He didn't give the answer she was fishing for – that his usual wintery habits were of no use this particular season – although he sensed she had already guessed as much. For if he were to admit that he could find no rhythm in his poetry or that there was no rest in his fireside evenings, then he would have to voice the truth he was so carefully avoiding.</p>
<p>And then the worry in Mrs Otter's eyes would shift to pity and he felt sure the ensuing careful kindness would shatter what remained of his anger.</p>
<p>"Ratty–"</p>
<p>"It's Rat." He didn't realise how sharp the words were until they were too late to take back, but his whole form had tensed with the childhood endearment and he could not have softened his tone if he had tried. He exhaled a jagged breath and did his best to loosen the death grip he had curled around the boat's edge. He still felt as taut as a violin string. "Please. Just Rat."</p>
<p>She did look on him with pity then.</p>
<p>x</p>
<p>He didn't see much of Toad during that winter. He wondered whether, with the boating season closed, Toad had found a new vessel into which to pour his obsession. He didn't ask. But there came no tales of misadventure or mishap from Toad Hall, which had been patiently withstanding the siege of Toad's hobbies for the past decade. Maybe whatever new fad he had got his webbed hands into was an indoor passing, innocuous enough that Toad could pass the winter without River-wide shenanigans.</p>
<p>Maybe Rat's outburst had finally hit home.</p>
<p>Maybe.</p>
<p>He doubted it though.</p>
<p>And so, life went on.</p>
<p>Slowly, at first. While the winter was mild he stayed out on the Riverbank, fixing up the body of his boat, and then when it grew too bitter for even his stubbornness to outstay, he retreated with the tasks that could be completed in the warmth of indoors.</p>
<p>Time passed.</p>
<p>The anger didn't dissipate, but it began to reluctantly yield. It was like a chestnut casing caught in the lungs; at first it nettled every breath, but eventually the spikes eroded and snapped away until it was only the occasional moment when it would catch and his chest would suddenly tighten and the familiar, comfortable ire would wash protectively over him.</p>
<p>The season slipped on.</p>
<p>Winter grew worse before it slackened. A new year turned and while the humans in their towns, buffeted against nature with pavement and brick, celebrated a fresh start, the animals along the Riverbank hunkered down against bitter frosts. By the time the river was frozen over with an extra helping of snow, even the larger, more impervious animals had retreated into their dens.</p>
<p>And then, just as it seemed as though winter would never end, it was spring again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N: Just a short chapter today, but there was nothing else I felt I could add or lengthen without doing so just for the word count's sake. For the fandom-savvy, yes the chapter is a reference to Avatar: The Last Airbender (I couldn't resist) :) Next chapter will have Mole, so things will be better for Rat next time! (Definitely all sunshine and rainbows and no angst, nope... (Did that sound convincing?))</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Begin Again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was a bustle along the Riverbank that morning. The air had changed and with it came the promise of spring, trading frosty sunrises for dew-tipped fields, snowdrops for daffodils, and from it rose a collective understanding that the worst of winter was behind them.</p><p>Rat had been up a good deal earlier than most, having borne winter's intolerable inactivity with rapidly dwindling patience and an eagerness to finally break the monotony. As the sun rose so did he, and he busied himself with the last few chores before he could finally set the newly riverworthy boat upon the water – indeed, so engulfed with the task was he that he barely noted the other animals who greeted him, calling out with fondness at the once-common sight of a water rat and his boat.</p><p>So there was a kind of giddy adrenaline running through Rat as he emerged from the single-minded state, and as the boat took its first gentle float upon the water he was met with a surety that things that had once been good would be good once again. For there was no doubt about it in his mind; this little boat was just as fine as any other vessel upon the water. Finer, perhaps.</p><p>He didn't even notice the animal on the far side of the riverbank until he glanced up – but, as things stood, they seemed too captivated by the water to take heed of the water rat either.</p><p>Rat was not so presumptuous as to assume he knew all the animals who called the Riverbank home, but he had spent his life along its waters and so it was rare that he would not know an aunt or a brother or a cousin once removed of the animal in question to bridge the gap. Yet he could be very certain this animal was new for they were a mole.</p><p>Probably.</p><p>Rat knew what a mole was. <em>Of course</em> he knew what a mole was, except, well… it wasn't as if <em>many</em> moles came a-wandering by the river; their species tended to be a cautious, grounded type who didn't dig too close to the riverbank and, even if they did, it was rare to see them venture from their tunnels to breach the surface for more than a quick check that the sky was still there.</p><p>So while Rat technically knew the difference between a mole and a shrew, it was much in the same vein as one might differentiate between blueberries and bilberries. That is to say, easy once one has got their eye in, but difficult without one to compare to the other and even more so from a distance.</p><p>Regardless, he knew a few shrews and that was enough for him to sure (well, <em>fairly</em> sure) that the unfamiliar face was that of a mole.</p><p>Still, when he called out a greeting, he couldn't quite stop himself from adding a querying, "You're a mole, aren't you?"</p><p>The animal jumped, and squinted across the river. "You are a rat?" he asked back.</p><p>"I'm a water rat," Rat corrected, hoping that since the other animal hadn't contradicted his question, he was indeed dealing with a mole. Otherwise he was in for an awkward conversation later.</p><p>"Is there a difference?"</p><p>Rat chuckled. "Is there a difference between glass and diamond?" he asked good-naturedly. "Is there a difference between tinsel and gold?"</p><p>"I get the point," the mole said hurriedly, which was probably just as well since Rat had accumulated a fair few comparisons after Toad had once asked the very same question. (Following which it had become a game of sorts between them to see how many comparisons they could compose. The diamond one had been Toad's, the gold one Rat's.)</p><p>It didn't even occur to Rat that he had thought of Toad without vitriol – and, in fact, perhaps even with a touch of nostalgia – until he was already setting across the river. And then that realisation fled his mind in favour of more immediate ones as he pulled his boat up to the far shore and the mole exclaimed, "I've never been in a boat before!"</p><p>Rat straightened immediately, but there was no shade of anything save sincerity in the other animal's face. He knew moles didn't have much to do with the river, but <em>still</em>… "What?" He found himself glancing about, if only for a moment, to see if anyone else had heard this impossibility. "How can that be? What have you been doing instead?"</p><p>"Well, doing what moles do," the mole answered simply. "Digging, driving gardeners mad, you know the sort of thing."</p><p>"It doesn't sound like much compared to <em>being in a boat</em>." Distantly, Rat could almost hear his father admonishing him for being rude in dismissing another animal's passions, but it barely registered. What <em>was</em> registering what that there was an animal before him who had survived all this time without ever laying a paw inside a boat.</p><p>Well, he couldn't be doing with that.</p><p>"So this is a river?" the mole asked.</p><p>If Rat had stopped to think for a moment – although the realisation would belatedly come later – he might have noted the uncertainty in the mole's voice and discerned that not only had the poor animal never been in a boat, but that he'd also <em>never seen the river</em>. As things stood, Rat was more concerned with correcting the grievous oversight of the mole referring to his river as '<em>a river</em>' as if it were interchangeable with any other peddling stream in the country.</p><p>"No, no, no; this is <em>the</em> River," Rat amended earnestly, stressing the proper reverence for his home.</p><p>"And really you live here," asked the mole, sounding suitably impressed, "by <em>the River</em> all the time? How jolly!"</p><p>"By it, with it, on it… <em>in it</em>," Rat said. He sought after the right words to express the way in which the River wasn't just a feature in the landscape, a random allotment on its journey along the water cycle, but a living, breathing thing. He wanted to speak of the moods that tempered it, from the playful reawakening in spring, to the sluggish crawl in summer, to the unyielding frozen danger of winter. He wanted to speak of how life along its banks fluctuated with those moods, like tides following the moon, and that one didn't simply live beside the River, but <em>with it</em>.</p><p>It was something he'd never quite been able to explain to Toad.</p><p>"It's my food, my drink, my company," Rat eventually said, parsing the tsunami of thoughts down to a few simple words. "My world."</p><p>x</p><p>In hindsight, when time and distance finally afforded him that luxury, Rat was never sure if he ever actually invited Mole along for a boat ride in as many words. It was certainly his intention – after all, he couldn't have walked (or rather, rowed) away after discovering the animal had never been in a boat before – but the invitation had been present more in context than in exact words. And Mole had certainly understood, even if it had taken some persuasion to tempt him from the stability of the bank.</p><p>(<em>Not surprising for an animal of the earth</em>, Rat had noted, and he had waded out into the shallows to pull the boat closer, intending to lessen the water-way distance.)</p><p>(Perhaps it should have portended Mole's more reactive nature, in that he found a third option that was neither leaping from the bank nor wading through the water, although only Rat's quick response had saved it from ending in disaster. Rat overlooked that, in much the same way in which he overlooked the uncanny manner in which Mole relocated the old nickname he had so thoroughly shed since his spat with Toad. After all, 'Ratty' was not so unusual a nickname for 'Rat,' he reminded himself. A fact he intended to solidify with mirroring back the endearment, turning 'Mole' to 'Moley.')</p><p>(It wasn't until he introduced Mole to Mrs Otter as 'Moley' that he realised the name was in danger of sticking if he didn't keep a weather eye on it.)</p><p>He attempted to detour the name of Ratty only once – anymore, and he might attract curiosity – but the excitement of this newfound world flooded with light and water rendered the request unheard. A shard of a familiar panic spiked through him – <em>he remembered too well another animal whose excitement left them deaf to all else</em> – and he hastily buried it beneath his love of his river.</p><p>(Of course the rediscovered name was only a coincidence, the universe having a laugh at his expense; it had to be. There was no way for Mole to know, Rat did his best to assure himself, what history the otherwise innocent name held. Certainly, Mole spoke the nickname with a good measure of affection, even if he did not read the unease that shot through Rat at its usage. If Rat had not been sure that this was truly Mole's first time along the riverbank, he might have suspected foul play, courtesy of Toad.)</p><p>But there was no way for Mole to know that, just as there was no way for him to know how Toad had also once made a similar bid for the oars with disastrous consequences. Even though they were in no danger from the weir, Rat felt his words tighten and his motions sharpen and <em>this time</em> he reclaimed the oars before any mishap, courtesy of inexperience, could befall them.</p><p>The moment it passed, he felt foolish. But the memory remained, imprinted into his nerves, so he could only smile and return to talk of his river and hope that his newfound shipmate had not heard the shift in his tone. (Just another coincidence, he assured himself. Mole was new to the river; of course he had little idea the danger it could pose to one who did not know its way. It was a far cry from Toad's mishap, which had persevered in spite of his knowing better.)</p><p>Still, his mind continued to throw up similarities even as he endeavoured to ignore them. The same curiosity that had driven an underground animal to seek out the world above persisted in the way Mole looked to the Wild Wood and the Wide World beyond; a mixture of inquisitiveness and wariness – of which the latter did not necessarily outweigh the former. It was a mixture that Rat had seen before, one that he had promised himself was a mistake he would not repeat. (But surely he would not be that unlucky twice.)</p><p>Mrs Otter later asked why Rat had omitted telling Mole the full story of what had occurred between him and Toad, and Rat had answered honestly that it was refreshing, in its own way, to meet an animal who knew nothing of his time alongside Toad. Who didn't see one half of a childhood duo, a fragment not whole without the other, but simply a water rat and his river. And perhaps, he would later conclude, that had been enough of a blessing for him to persist in a situation that otherwise he would have abandoned.</p><p>(Even after the subject of Toad came to dominate the conversation and Mole displayed that same stubborn curiosity, Rat convinced himself it meant nothing. Nothing, save for how Toad had a penchant for dominating even conversations he was not privy to.)</p><p>In the end, it didn't really matter what had driven him to overlook the instincts that the previous years had drilled into him. It didn't really matter, because <em>what mattered</em> was at the end of the day, when the sunset's reflection had slipped from the river and dusk was creeping in, he saw an animal too far from home, and had offered his roof for the evening.</p><p>After all, what could come of a single night?</p><p>x</p><p>"Well," Mrs Otter said, some time that definitely wasn't a single night later. "He seems nice."</p><p>Rat watched as Mole and Portia trailed along the riverbank, the latter showing the former all the best places to find worms, which was a task Rat was quite glad not to have fallen to him. The remnants of a picnic – well-scavenged with only a few egg salad sandwiches remaining – occupied the rug between them, and Rat made a show of returning the fragments to the wicker luncheon-basket. "I don't know what you're talking about."</p><p>"Hm," Mrs Otter said, in a tone that was notably sceptical, even for her. She finished off the last of the ginger beer and passed the empty bottle over to Rat. "How long has he been staying with you? Just over a month?"</p><p>"I wouldn't know," Rat said stiffly. "I haven't been keeping count."</p><p>Mrs Otter raised an eyebrow.</p><p>"But it's closer to two now," Rat added.</p><p>"Hm," Mrs Otter said again, and it was a testament to her verbal skills how she could make such a non-committal sound express so perfectly <em>'I thought as much.</em>' "So, Ratty–"</p><p>"I thought we had agreed on just Rat."</p><p>"You don't seem to mind when he calls you that."</p><p>Rat had little argument to that that would not sound petulant. He considered speaking of how he had attempted to waylay the name, but then he would have to confess he had admitted defeat after only the first correction. He could argue that Mole knew nothing of the history behind it, but that would be accompanied by the unavoidable addendum that the name <em>did</em> carry such baggage. He could tell her how he had turned the nickname back around on Mole, converting 'Mole' to 'Moley' but then she might hear the affection in the mirrored name and realise that 'Ratty' had shifted from childhood nickname to endearment without so much as a 'by your leave.'</p><p>"You know what? Ratty's fine."</p><p>He wished Mrs Otter didn't look <em>quite</em> so pleased with herself. She leant back, not offering a paw to help clear up the picnic – then again, she spent half her life tidying up after her pups, so Rat couldn't begrudge her that – and watched as her eldest waded into the river's shallows, leaving Mole lingering on dry land. "It's nice to see you making friends," she said.</p><p>"Could you at least <em>try</em> to sound less like a proud parent releasing their child onto the school playground? I have friends."</p><p>"Name one."</p><p>"There's Badger–" Rat began.</p><p>"Who you haven't been to visit in… how long?"</p><p>"And you–"</p><p>"Try naming a friend who's a <em>little</em> closer to your generation and doesn't spend all her time chasing after ill-behaving pups."</p><p>Rat huffed. "You said name one friend; you can't keep moving the goalposts. Anyway, it's true; you <em>are</em> both my friends."</p><p>"Of course we are, but…" and here Mrs Otter hesitated. "It hasn't stopped you from being lonely this past winter."</p><p>"I wasn't lonely; I was <em>busy</em>."</p><p>Mrs Otter made a sound that made it quite clear she didn't care much for the distinction. She inhaled and, in familiarity with petulant pups, moved the conversation along. "Toad is just dying to meet him, you know."</p><p>"I wasn't aware you talked much with Toad."</p><p>"One doesn't have to talk with him to know what's going on in his mind. Proximity and the possession of ears enable the rest." She tilted her head. "You <em>are</em> going to introduce him to Toad, aren't you?"</p><p>"I haven't decided."</p><p>Mrs Otter raised an eyebrow. "You'd better decide sooner rather than later, otherwise you're gonna find the choice is taken out of your paws anyhow."</p><p>"In what way?"</p><p>"Ratty, you are not a difficult animal to predict. It would not take much for Toad to orchestrate a 'happenstance' encounter along the riverbank; he may have afforded you the kindness of distance over winter, but his curiosity will get the better of him eventually."</p><p>Rat didn't say that Toad's curiosity was already getting the better of him; that green envelopes had once again begun blighting his doorstep and only through stubbornness and luck had Mole not cottoned on to Toad's summons. "I have it all under control."</p><p>Mrs Otter didn't even afford him the courtesy of a disbelieving 'hm' this time around, letting her silence and a well-practiced tilt of the head speak volumes instead.</p><p>x</p><p>The problem, Rat decided once it was all far too late to change anything, was that he cared too easily.</p><p>It was this same care that Toad had shielded under during their tempestuous latter friendship, back when Rat had held his tongue and his temper in hopes of salvaging the nostalgic times they had once shared. And now, whether or not his new housemate knew it, that same irrational heart-first, common sense-second care had realigned over Mole.</p><p>He definitely didn't have this under control.</p>
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